William Fense Weaver (1923–2013)

Talking too much to a writer about his process wears down the patience, and pretty soon it's like talking to a janitor about his process except in the latter case you haven't heard it all before. But in Calvino's case he manages to keep it languidly intriguing. I always thought the sort of vagueness that goes through his works was a like a dreamy vagueness, but it seems like he sees it more as an austere vagueness, a Calvinism taking perhaps the only form Calvinism could take in a Cuba-Italian, a contained detachedness, you see. He seems stern but not unpleasant. Paris Review.… (mer)